


It Ain't Me

by uncafeavecbarnes



Category: Endings Beginnings (2019), Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Explicit Language, Inspired by Music, M/M, Memories, Non-Explicit Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncafeavecbarnes/pseuds/uncafeavecbarnes
Summary: Frank and Ransom reminisce about where things went right and wrong.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Frank (Endings Beginnings)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	It Ain't Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [happygowriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygowriting/gifts).



> This is something I wrote for a friend and I cannot thank them enough for it. These are two characters I would never have considered before but there’s a magnetic pull between them I cannot describe. Thank you so much for this chance and I hope you enjoy reading. This was in part inspired by a song.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcome. You can also follow me on Tumblr.

Dust. Speckles of it dance in a shard of sunlight. Honeyed light through scuffed windows. Warmth that never does quite reach. Smoke spirals in the air. Tobacco. Cologne. Coffee. Sex. Scents that have long faded into wine stained floorboards and crumpled sheets. None that linger so much as silence. Silence that hangs heavy, an awkward weight, anchored only by the two men that stare at one another. Frank and Ransom.

Cigarette tucked between his fingers, Frank raises it to his lips. He inhales, tobacco burning down his throat but not once do his eyes leave Ransom’s. Blue into blue. Both swirl with unspoken memories. Perhaps this is the last one and that’s why neither of them dares to disturb it. And as Frank savours his cigarette, Ransom does his whiskey.

* * *

_ Whiskey. Liquid amber that glimmered with deep bronze as it swirled neatly in a glass. Low murmurs and smirks. Dim lights and jazz. City skylines and clouds. Whiskey, that Ransom had bought Frank in a proud insistence of good money and taste. One drink had become two and soon three. And it was with flushed cheeks and bright eyes that Frank had easily accepted an offer to continue the night together.  _

_ Collars drawn up against a bitter cold thawed by Frank’s impatience. Little hesitation in the press of his lips. Tastes of tobacco, whiskey and cinnamon. An addiction that neither could have predicted and yet, too intoxicating to quit when they realised just how deep in it they were. Wandering hands, fingers fisted in jacket lapels, breathless chuckles. Barely any finesse to the way Frank had shed Ransom’s clothes, but his touch bore a desire that only Ransom could ever kindle. And it became the one night that defined them. _

_ Frank had murmured praises. Words that dusted a rosy blush all over Ransom’s skin. Sweet nothings tattooed into his neck, chest, thighs. Ransom had worshipped every inch of Frank. Kisses that were needy and rushed as they were passionate. Bites and bruises that he soothed over with his tongue. Clumsy and rushed, like all great lovers desperate to feel one another. Frank’s moans mingled in the air with Ransom’s throaty gasps. Silk sheets cool under hot skin. Frank’s silhouette in the darkness as he rocked down on Ransom’s cock. Ransom’s broad back arched off the bed in a perfect curve as he tightened around Frank’s length. The one night that defined them. _

* * *

Nowhere high enough, an epic love sobered too soon. Fine fractures began to line an excuse of a relationship their stubbornness doomed them to. Split seams, like cracks in a vase. Reality began to seep through and Frank, Ransom, neither did anything to stop it. Absinthe apologies and sex, stolen moments in Harlan’s study and vintage cars. Denial, a more apt description. Band aids that would peel away by morning light and leave deeper wounds behind.

Somewhere along the lines, amidst tangled sheets and whiskey laced backseat kisses, Frank and Ransom had stopped seeing eye to eye. Perhaps it was Frank’s disappearances. Neither a greeting or farewell to mark his comings and going. Perhaps it was Ransom’s indifference. Not a word nor a whisper on the emotions he buried deep within his heart. Perhaps it was mutual ignorance. Magic they believed would last a lifetime.

Ransom’s whiskey tastes more of habit than pleasure. Bitterness he’s come to know as Frank. Frank, the man who saw the best in him yet brought out the worst. It’s a pain he has to confront, knowing that he plans to leave it behind forever. Affection, escape, sex. Things that Frank has shown him. And even so, they pale in comparison to intimacy.

Intimacy. Comfort that only Frank could bring Ransom. Peace that only Ransom could gift Frank. Solace that suffocates on the nights they are apart. Darkness in which they are each other’s light. Embraces that shield them from their demons. Phone calls on drunken nights, broken sleep on beaches, whispered reassurances that only survive in the bleakest of hours.

Frank. Ransom. Not discontent in silence. Not ignorant of their final moment. Not willing to end it so soon. Uncomfortably aware, peace will never find them so long as they are apart but neither will it find them any easier so long as they are together.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://uncafeavecbarnes.tumblr.com/)


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